


mistake, punishment, forgiveness

by aunt_zelda



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Blood, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Corporal Punishment, F/M, Hand Jobs, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Punishment, Re-enactment of past abuse, Scars, Self-Worth Issues, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:06:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aunt_zelda/pseuds/aunt_zelda
Summary: Caleb used to be punished by Ikithon when he made a mistake. Now he wishes someone on the team would punish him.





	mistake, punishment, forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> Fill for this prompt on the kink meme: https://criticalkink.dreamwidth.org/3194.html?thread=598138#cmt598138
> 
> _Caleb is used to physical punishments from his days with Ikithon. He can't really feel like any of his wrongdoings are in the past until he's been punished for them, so he asks one of the Mighty Nein to do just that. It's up to you who he asks, and how into they are. Bonus points for Caleb dealing with any past sexual trauma. And bonus BONUS points for aftercare._
> 
>  
> 
> Note: this fic contains unhealthy coping mechanisms. Caleb is a mess and I'm not entirely sure how to tag for all of it. If you feel I've neglected a tag, feel free to comment here or message me on tumblr and I will add a new tag, no questions asked. I want readers to come to my fics fully informed and prepared.

When Caleb was young and made a mistake, he was punished. Ikithon had a pattern. You learned that pattern and adhered to it, or you did not survive. 

Caleb learned: mistake, punishment, forgiveness. 

Caleb has made so many mistakes since the fire. He broke. He spent years staring at the wall. He’s a traitor. He’s a murderer. He’s a thief and a swindler and a conman who’s stolen bread from the mouths of starving farmers. Now he’s a hired thug for a mob boss. 

Mistake. Mistake. Mistake.

He keeps fucking up. He doesn’t understand jokes. He can’t stop his selfish impulses. He nearly breaks the team apart again and again. In battles sometimes he freezes up, becomes useless.

Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. 

He sits on watch with Yasha one night, after a particularly bad day. The fight was grueling, the aftermath full of short tempers and (to him) inscrutable emotions. Caleb clashed with Beau and Jester, and even Fjord gave him a stern look he’s come to both dread and anticipate. Chastisement from Fjord has yet to be followed up with a punishment, but it’s something. 

“You’re tense.” Yasha says after a long stretch of silence. 

Caleb shrugs. 

“Anything I can do?”

Caleb huffs a laugh, or what would be a laugh if he could manage it. “You could beat me until I looked as wretched as I feel.”

Yasha doesn’t respond for a moment. “Would that help you?”

Caleb looks up, though he doesn’t meet her eyes. Would it? “… yes. I hope so.”

Yasha nods slowly. “Ok. In the morning, before we break camp?”

“Yes.”

“In front of everyone?”

Caleb thinks of all of them watching, all those eyes, and shudders. “No.”

“Just me?”

“Maybe … one more?”

“Nott?”

Caleb shakes his head. Nott will sneak off and watch anyways, he has no doubt of that. 

“Molly?”

Caleb thinks of being pinned against the wall, hot breath on his face, arms bracketing him so he couldn’t escape. “Yes.”

Yasha nods, and they speak no more that night.

~*~

Caleb wakes tense and sore. Beau stares at him sourly over the morning porridge and Jester directs her morning chatter towards Fjord. That, coupled with the anticipation, makes Caleb’s stomach churn. He foregoes breakfast after a few mouthfuls and wanders off into the nearby woods. 

Yasha follows him after a moment, trailed by Molly. She strides deeper into the woods and Caleb hurries after her. He avoids looking at Molly. 

A few hundred yards further and Yasha stops in front of a smooth tree. “This’ll do.” Yasha waves Caleb forward. “Take off your coat.”

Caleb does. His hands are shaking. 

“Molly, take his coat.”

Caleb hands over the garment without looking at Molly’s face. 

“I can beat you with your shirt on, but it would be safer with it off. Your choice.”

A memory curls in Caleb’s mind. Ikithon often gave him a choice at the start, this cane or that knife, on his knees or bent over the desk, Astrid or Eodwulf … Ikithon liked to let Caleb have a hand in forming his own punishments.

Caleb strips off his shirt too. He holds it out for Molly and gulps when it too is taken from him. 

“Put your hands on the tree. Here … and there …” Yasha takes his hands and places them on low branches. “Once you take your hands off the tree, I stop. Understand?”

Caleb nods. 

Yasha steps back. Caleb faces the tree and tries to relax his tense muscles. He doesn’t have to look at them. There’s only two of them … three because Nott is somewhere nearby keeping watch in case they go too far. The morning is chilly but he does not shiver.

He knows his back is a mess of scars. Burns and old whip marks and ragged knife wounds. Over one shoulder is the mangled bit of a brand Ikithon gave him, which he’d crudely tried to remove and gave up halfway through because the pain was too much. 

The snap of a rope is harsh in the morning air. Caleb breathes shallowly and grips the tree branches. 

The first hit is not as soft as he had imagined. He had thought Yasha might go easy on the first strike, warming up, or perhaps uncertain of how best to do this. From the first strike Caleb knows she has done this before. The thought is exhilarating and comforting all at once. She knows what she’s doing. Caleb feels the tension start to leave him already. 

Pain rips across his back as strike after strike lands. Yasha is strong, and directing her hits carefully to the right places. The rope doesn’t wrap around to his chest or risk his organs. This is a good beating. 

“What are you being punished for, Caleb?” Molly calls out, after half a dozen lashes. 

Caleb can hear Yasha panting somewhat. The rope is silent for now. They want his answer. 

“I jeopardized the team yesterday.” 

SNAP. The pain returns, a reward for his answer. 

“What else?”

Caleb grips the tree branches harder. “I keep secrets from the team when I should share.”

SNAP.

“What else?”

“I stole a farmer’s life savings so I could buy myself a diamond.”

SNAP.

“What else?”

“I’m a traitor to the Empire.”

SNAP.

“What else?”

“I … I killed my parents.” Caleb sobs through the next strike, and the next, and the next. His knees tremble but he holds onto the branches. 

“That’s enough.” Molly murmurs to Yasha, but Caleb can still hear him. 

“No! I need … I need …” Caleb slips, sinking to his knees, but he keeps his hand on the smooth bark. “There’s more. Please. Ask me.”

“… what else?”

Caleb thinks of Astrid, frenzied with ambition and rutting with him in the great library. He thinks of the rush of excitement when he first killed a traitor in the basement. He thinks of Eodwulf timidly pulling at his clothes in their cramped quarters in Ikithon’s home. He thinks of burning a woman from the toes up and laughing at her screams. He thinks of the forgiveness that came after Ikithon’s punishments, the harsh hands that turned soft and attentive and coaxed him through his tears and guilt into a new shame. He was not ashamed then, but he is now. 

“I’m a selfish, disgusting garbage person.”

The last strike is soft. With anyone else Caleb would think they were weary, but this is Yasha; he knows her to be capable of rending him in half if she so desired. 

Caleb lets his hands fall from the tree. He hunches his shoulders and the pain screams at him anew and he relishes it. 

Molly crouches down beside him. “I have a salve. It prevents infection. Unless you want Jester to …?”

“No.” Caleb shakes his head. He doesn’t want Jester to see this, not yet. “You … you can.”

Molly slathers the salve over the fresh wounds. It feels like burning. Caleb groans, half from pain and half from enjoyment. Kind hands on him after a punishment used to mean something else, used to mean the comfort that came after taking his punishment well. Astrid used to struggle and Eodwulf went limp, but Caleb had been Ikithon’s favorite to comfort. 

“Do you want help with that?”

It takes Caleb a moment to realize what Molly is referring to. Caleb’s cock is hard, and he doesn’t remember exactly when that happened. After he fell to his knees, he’s pretty sure. 

“Would you prefer Yasha?” Molly suggests. “Or should we give you a moment alone?” 

“I don’t know … I just … I … if someone … please …” Caleb chokes on the deluge of words. “Please … I want … I want … you … please …”

Molly slides his hand underneath the waistband of Caleb’s trousers. 

Caleb throws back his head and _moans_. 

Yasha sits down in front of Caleb. She reaches out with sweaty hands and steadies him, pressing her hands to the front of his shoulders, keeping her fingers clear of the marks on his back. 

Molly’s hand, already slick with the salve, makes short work of Caleb. Caleb is momentarily held up only by Yasha’s arms. 

“Did that help you?” Yasha asks. 

Caleb nods. 

“Good.” Yasha flexes her hands.

“Thank you.”

“Any time.” Yasha helps him to his feet. “… after those marks heal.”

Caleb puts his shirt back on and hisses with the pain. It’s a good pain though, as he feels the salve sink into his skin. He’s going to burn today and tomorrow he’ll wake up beautifully raw.

Mistake, punishment, forgiveness.

Caleb eases into the pattern and follows them back to camp.


End file.
